


Dark Side of the Moon

by shadowshrike



Series: Emerald Moon AU [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background Relationships, Chess, Childhood Friends, Depression, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Needs a Hug, Hallucinations, Implied Sexual Content, Innuendo, Lectures, Mind Games, Scheming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-21 09:04:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowshrike/pseuds/shadowshrike
Summary: Missing scenes and alternate points of view based on Emerald Moon: Coalition of Lion and Deer. Requests welcome!Latest: Sylvain's determined to get to the bottom of Claude's plans for Dimitri. (Pre Chapter 17)





	1. Felix & Dimitri - King's Savior (Post Ch. 16)

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this an 'extras' dump for Emerald Moon while I work on plotting the Almyra sequel/spinoff. Explicit works will be in their own fics to keep the rating capped at M.
> 
> Need some context for these one-shots? [Read Emerald Moon first](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20225992)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Latest: Tasked by Claude to convince Dimitri to accept the Kingdom crown, Felix has a civil conversation with his childhood friend for the first time in years. (Post Chapter 16)

Felix stalked down the corridor, carrying with him an anger that left his side as rarely as his sword did. He sometimes wondered if he remembered what it felt like to live without hatred. Probably not. It had been his only predictable companion for half a lifetime. Age had solidified its place within him, his personal inferno of disgust becoming a guiding light against the madness of the world.

As long as he hated, Felix would have something to fight against. A purpose in life. If he stopped - well, stopping wasn’t an option.

He was certain the boar felt the same way when they found him.

But Dimitri didn’t feel that way anymore. Or rather, he had seemed to be better for a while, focusing on retaking Fhirdiad and helping his people rather than revenge. Then Claude got shot, Dimitri stopped listening to his advisors, and Faerghus remained without a king to protect them against the Empire. That was why Felix was marching through the castle, seeking out the one person he hadn’t said a single nice thing to or about in longer than he could remember. Someone needed to drag the boorish prince out of his rut, and the only man he’d listen to other than the dastards who’d destroyed Faerghus with their mantra of principles before people had just been dragged away to the infirmary by Mercedes.

What an enigma Claude was. The kind of man you always had to keep both eyes on him because he gravitated towards people’s blind spots. Even when they were boys at the academy, Claude had hidden his secrets behind clever deflections and charming smiles as fake as Sylvain’s. The only thing Felix knew for certain back then was that Claude was as smart as he was good with a bow. He never missed when he shot to kill.

It made his current situation more perplexing to Felix. Claude usually flitted around, playing some greater game with them no one was privy to, but since the massacre at Gronder, he kept coming back to Dimitri. It was probably political at first. Even a dullard like Raphael could have seen that the boar would be a prime piece in the war if someone could polish up a princely mask and strap it to the beast’s snout again. 

But then, after Fort Merceus, the way Claude looked at Dimitri changed. More importantly, the way Dimitri looked back at him changed.

Claude had done the impossible. It should have surprised Felix, but by now, he’d be more surprised if one of the schemer’s insane plans didn’t work. He’d taken a mindless bloodthirsty beast and tamed it, not by starving its hunger for battle until it broke like the gentle halfwits in their company would have, nor by rigging it up and pulling its strings to resemble a man like Felix’s fool of a father had tried, nor by crippling it with sharp barbs until it lost the will to fight as Felix himself had done. Claude had offered Dimitri a gentle hand and a sharp kick to get his feet back under him. Protective but not coddling, firm but not cruel, challenging but never humiliating. Claude had paved a way out of the darkness, and Dimitri walked it with his whole self rather than relying on veneers and platitudes.

For the first time since Duscur, the prince and the boar became one.

Felix still didn’t know what to make of it. He hated that his king still had a beast inside him. He hated how inadequate Claude had made him feel. He hated how they looked at each other, talked to one another, and worked together like they needed no one else to shoulder all the world’s problems. He particularly hated that they were both oblivious to it.

What he hated more than anything, though, was how Dimitri had collapsed without Claude the moment they retook Fhirdiad, and Claude, the absolute bastard, had asked Felix to fix it. He’d preyed on Felix’s hatred of his father’s Faerghus, the one that would shape Dimitri (and Sylvain and Ingrid and every last damned knight) into martyrs crowned by a sea of blood. Faerghus could only change if men who wanted change, like Felix, won the ear of the king. Unable to parry the weaponized logic Claude wielded with the same precision as his arrows, Felix had stupidly agreed that he would try to make real change with Dimitri’s help rather than standing alone and paying lip service to his ideals.

Only now, standing outside the king’s bedroom Dimitri was assuredly skulking in, Felix had no idea how he would manage it. Counsel was not something people came to him for. They fetched him for his sword or his cruel words and little else. He wasn’t even certain his tongue could form the words “Your Highness” anymore after so many years calling the man a boar.

Regardless, Felix would not stall outside the room like some sort of coward. He rapped his knuckles against the door three times, loud enough to echo down the deserted hallways.

No answer. Unsurprising.

“I’m coming in,” Felix informed the other man. He bit his tongue to keep the word ‘boar’ from slipping out.

Not waiting for permission, Felix shoved his way through the threshold. Inside, he found Dimitri sitting not on the king’s bed but beside it, dead to the world with his forehead pressed to his knees. His arms shook where they wrapped around himself like he hadn’t slept since the battle ended a week ago.

“I know, father. It’s yours. I won’t take it. I just...I need a little more time...” 

Dimitri’s muffled whimpers chilled the air like restless spirits floating through the darkness. Felix was sick of the dead butting in on the living like they still had some say in this world.

“You used to pretend to have manners. It’s rude to ignore people standing right in front of you, you know,” Felix snarled. 

The whispers vanished, but the room didn’t get any warmer. Dimitri raised his head, staring at Felix with one bloodshot eye surrounded by bags that made him look downright deranged. Felix had thought they were past this.

“Felix?” Dimitri sounded genuinely startled. “You’re...real.”

The swordsman sneered, disgusted by the implication. “Did you expect otherwise? I’m not one of those worthless specters you cling to.”

Dimitri’s sluggish blink suggested he wasn’t sold on that theory. “What do you want?”

_ For you to look at me rather than them! Listen to the living for once, you damn boar! _

Felix mashed his lips into a thin, white line to keep the vicious insults inside his head where they belonged. He wasn’t cut out for this. Diplomacy was something for people who enjoyed deceit and preferred a conversation to a swordfight. Felix shouldn’t have come here following the advice of someone delirious on pain medication, no matter how bright he was, but it was too late to back down now. 

“I want Faerghus to be a place worth fighting for. Somewhere that people don’t throw their lives away for senseless loyalty. But it will never change until someone leads us away from all the useless bloodshed and sacrifice. You’re the obvious choice to do something about it,” Felix said. His arms crossed, waiting impatiently for a response.

“You...trust me?”

“No.” The truth, blunt and unapologetic. “...But I’ll let you earn my trust if you get off the floor and start acting like someone worth following.”

Dimitri curled back into his knees, too small for his broad shoulders. He reminded Felix of the child who had come home from Duscur terrified of his future, changed from the innocent prince but not yet the boar. 

Strangely, it was almost comforting to see him like this. None of them had been allowed time to heal as children. There were bandits to fight, rebellions to quell, Sreng to contend with, and stations to prepare for. They spent the years alone, hiding their wounds from one another and desperately licking them raw in the dark, tearing their hearts open over and over again until the four of them couldn’t see past their own pain to help anyone else. Vulnerability was a luxury not allowed to the people of Faerghus.

Yet here Dimitri was, laid bare before Felix with no regal disguise or twisted smile. Too healed to hide behind his propriety, too broken to pick himself up alone. Trusting Felix like he had when they were small, despite sharing nothing other than their family’s legacies.

Felix didn’t want to return to the past.

“I’m so tired,” Dimitri murmured to no one in particular.

Felix snorted and replied anyway, closing the distance between them in sharp strides to glare down at the sullen prince. "Unless you're going to sleep, tired isn't an excuse. Tired has never stopped you from training, has it?"

Dimitri lifted his head but didn’t answer the rhetorical question. His eye drifted to the bed behind him. "My father's throne...Do I deserve it after everything I've done? Everything I've failed to do?"

"It doesn't matter if you deserve it or not,” Felix stated. He nudged Dimitri’s knee with his boot. “Faerghus needs you to take it and make it better than it is."

"I don't know if I can."

"I don't know either. But neither of us gets a choice in trusting you to do it. This is the only way forward.”

All the other paths, ones filled with friendship and family and innocent dreams, had burned along with Duscur and Garreg Mach. 

_ Don’t dwell _ , Felix commanded himself. 

( _ Don’t grieve _ , was what he meant.)

"You're right, Felix,” Dimitri admitted. He sighed, leaning his temple against the mattress of the king. “I need to move forward. Faerghus needs me to move forward. If I stay stuck in the past, fixated on the people I’ve lost and the mistakes I made, I will stay stuck here forever, never atoning for any of it."

There. He admitted it. Mission accomplished. Time to retreat before the boar said something dumb and Felix’s resentment flared, undermining his message.

“I’m sorry, Felix.”

_ Dammit _ .

"Don’t bother apologizing to me. I’m not the one who’s spent months trying to turn you into a worthwhile king,” Felix muttered. 

The tiny smirk that crawled across the prince’s face did nothing to assuage his rising irritation. "I never thought I'd see the day where you'd be asking for an apology on your father's behalf..."

"Not him, idiot!" Felix snarled.

Too exhausted to connect the obvious dots, Dimitri’s brow collected faint lines. "Not your father...then who?"

"Are you really that dense?” A blank stare. Felix ground his teeth to stop himself from cursing in Dimitri’s face. It was like the headaches the boar got from not sleeping turned his mind into that of a simple animal. “I’m talking about Claude. You dragged his half-dead body around a battlefield screaming for a healer, but you haven't visited him once since he woke up."

The prince twisted his head further into the mattress, using his curtain of unkempt hair to shield his shame from Felix. He shut his eye against the judgment. "I didn't want him to see me like this. With everything he’s done for me and for Faerghus, he deserves better."

Felix’s fingernails dug through the soft leather of his gloves, yearning to leave jagged cuts on his palm. "Claude antagonized half our army to make you a king. You don’t think he wants to see you?” Felix seethed. “Stop being obtuse. If we weren’t willing to deal with your issues, we never would have followed you this far. You’re being selfish. Hiding from everyone hurts more than just you.”

It rippled across the entire army. Two armies if you counted how the Kingdom and Alliance were intertwined. Felix might not have talked to many people directly, but he saw it all from the sidelines: Ingrid wandering aimlessly through life without a king to serve, Sylvain’s darkness growing every day he failed to reach Dimitri, Ashe losing himself in books to pretend happy endings existed, Dedue’s worried gaze dogging his liege’s gloomy behavior, and even Mercedes and Annette glancing towards the throne room with pursed lips and anxious eyes.

“I never thought I’d hear you, of all people, give me a lecture on how to treat friends,” Dimitri huffed. Neither of them laughed at the bitter irony. "I will think on your words. You’ve made an impressive effort today, so it’s only appropriate that I do the same. I know I probably shouldn't say anything, but I think this is the first time we've had a conversation without you calling me a boar since..."

Felix cut him off, not ready to talk about it yet, "If you know you shouldn't say it, then don’t."

Dimitri snorted. It may have been a trick of the dim light, but Felix swore his lips twisted upwards.

"Thank you, Felix," the prince said, so saccharine it made Felix want to retch. 

"If you want to thank me, stop moping and act like our king."

"Yes. Of course. I'll announce my return to the citizens immediately.” The prince gripped the edge of the bed, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. Felix shoved him back to the mattress with a firm thrust of his palm.

"Not immediately,” the swordsman corrected. “After you sleep. You're useless like this."

Dimitri looked down at himself, clothes askew and hands trembling from fatigue, as if considering what ‘like this’ meant. He nodded. "...After I sleep, then."

Satisfied, Felix whirled on his heel to leave. He wasn’t about to stick around and play nursemaid. Better to leave that to someone like Mercedes or Dedue who didn’t have the urge to yell every time Dimitri looked at them like a puppy who’d forgotten what a warm bed felt like because he kept wandering out into the streets to bring his siblings food but forgot the way home.

Felix stalled at the door, wrapping slender fingers around the frame with his back facing the room.

"...don't disappoint me, Dimitri,” he muttered. 

The name tasted only slightly sweet on his tongue. Felix didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would. He refused to peek at Dimitri’s reaction for fear it would taint the flavor.

"I won't," came the prince’s quiet reply. “I promise.”


	2. Dimitri PoV - Awakening (Ch. 2 & 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the bloodbath at Gronder Field and what he was certain would be his last breaths, Dimitri awakens inside Garreg Mach. His ghosts wake with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Dimitri at his worst ahead. There's graphic language, treating delusions as reality, and chaotic thoughts.

It hurt.

That wasn’t a surprise - it always hurt when he woke. Fresh gashes in his skin, old scars that ached with the seasons, muscles that hadn’t seen rest for longer than what little he could remember, an ever-present throb in his head that drowned out everything save the dogma of his mission. The surprise was that he woke at all. 

He remembered red everywhere at Gronder field. The raging fires, bloodied corpses, and  _ her _ running away from the destruction she wrought. Crimson clung to the witch like a jilted lover desperate to leave its mark on everything she touched. 

They had clashed on the battlefield. He had won. But not before the red got its claws into him, spilling from his failing body and his enemies as he gave chase. He remembered spears. The crunch of a man beneath his boot. Collapsing. Screams fading to whispers. The freezing peace of death on a scorched hillside.

But he woke again now. And it hurt.

“You’re pathetic, boar. You can’t even manage to die properly,” Glenn scoffed at the foot of the bed.

A bed? Why was he…

“Don’t say that,” Dimitri’s father scolded somewhere near his shoulder. “If he had died, he wouldn’t be able to avenge us.”

Dimitri didn’t need to open his eye to see Glenn’s sneer. “He deserves it. He’s nothing but a monster.”

“He’s hardly a monster. Monsters are much better at killing. You should stop pinning your hopes on him, Lambert, it’s clear he can’t do it,” Dimitri’s stepmother chimed in next to her husband, smooth and cold.

“He can and he will. He’ll rip your wicked daughter’s head from her body and make the whole world watch as justice is served, won’t you, son?”

“Tch. The boar’s salivating at the idea.”

“He’s too soft-hearted.”

“He’ll eviscerate her.”

“Monster.”

“Weak.”

“Killer”

“Kill ‘er.”

“ _ Kill her _ !”

“Shut up!” Dimitri roared. Hands clawed at his head, digging fingernails at his scalp hard enough to bleed.

Something touched him. The beast jolted up to fight, blue eye blazing, back to the wall, fangs bared. Dimitri grasped for Areadbhar but only managed to mangle bed linens with his searching talons.

_ Thief _ ! 

He’d tear their throat out.

“I’m sorry, Dimitri. You’re feeling miserable right now, aren’t you?” murmured a gentle voice. Familiar. Maternal. Nothing like the disparaging coldness of his mother when he disappointed her.

“I wouldn’t have to be disappointed if you did as I asked. I love you, Dimitri...I thought you loved me enough in return to prove it.”

“I do,” Dimitri croaked.

His vision swam to the sound of Glenn’s laughter, trying to find the silhouette of his captor in the sea of his ghostly entourage. The thief he had to kill. She was here. 

Was she here?

The sweet chirping started up again near his side, “That’s not surprising. You were injured very badly. We almost weren’t able to save you.”

“Why did you bother?” Dimitri spat.

Thieves did not save monsters. There was no reason to nurse him back to health unless she needed someone to disembowel her enemies. Too bad he’d sooner pick her apart from her fingernails to her teeth for daring to take what was his.

“Because we care about you. We want to help you recover,” the woman answered, though Dimitri had already forgotten the question. “I know the herbs are bitter and make you feel dizzy, but you needed to be awake for food and water.”

The only bitterness Dimitri had tasted in the last decade was frustration. His prey too far away. His body too weak to squeeze her traitorous neck until the life faded from her eyes. Those heartless, lavender eyes that saw only victims to crush beneath her heel.

“You can’t have anything too heavy, but there’s water and bread for you on the table,” his host continued, her kind voice overflowing with generosity. 

Dimitri stared as she poured a glass he didn’t want. His stomach rumbled, but he made no move to reach for the unappetizing food as the shape of rounded loaves crystalized through the haze of his throbbing head and straining eye. He looked at her face, trying to place the short hair and beatific smile. 

He knew her once. Someone from his past life, maybe. From the world before that woman painted it a million shades of red. From when he was more than a walking corpse.

“Leave those days behind you. Your mind was unfocused then, too often forgetting your duties to us,” Lambert warned, off to his right where there was supposed to be a wall. “We are the ones you must remember. If you abandon our dreams, we will be gone forever.”

His jailer set the pitcher on the table and looked back at him, offering him a mysterious expression he’d once have called sympathy or perhaps pity. 

Dimitri’s heart stopped.

Lavender eyes. The woman in the room had lavender eyes.

“Imperial scum. I’ll make you bleed!” Dimitri’s growling lunge tried to fling him from the bed toward her, but his uncoordinated, half-asleep limbs only succeeded at sending him tumbling into the corner. Cowed by his impulsiveness, he slumped there, beaten. It took too much energy to maintain anger that wasn’t directed at the Emperor. His rage fizzled into easy, numbing exhaustion.

Instead of cowering, the woman he’d tried to attack crossed her arms, meeting his impotence with disapproval. “Dimitri, you know I have not been part of the Empire since I was a child. There’s no need for name-calling just because you aren’t interested in food right now.”

The itch in his brain grew more insistent with her stern tone. Dedue glared at him from the door, silent in his judgment, as always. He wanted Dimitri to remember something.

She must be important. Someone they were both close to at Garreg Mach. A Blue Lion? Dimitri squinted, his mind’s eye superimposing a black school uniform and longer hair.

"Mercedes," he breathed. 

She smiled again, and if his world wasn't so lost to darkness, Dimitri was certain the cell would have lit up. "You do remember. I was starting to worry those herbs Claude had me use were too potent. He's good with that sort of thing, but relaxants can make it hard to think even with other herbs to counter it."

Claude. He recalled that name, too. A gilded child with cunning smiles and antlers tipped in poison. They'd fought together once after the Emperor showed her true colors. He was her enemy, too. A possible ally.

Patricia sighed to the left of Mercedes, shaking her head at her deficient stepson. "After everything, you’re considering letting someone else do your dirty work for you? A king who cannot settle his own grievances does not deserve his throne."

"Animals don't have kings," Glenn supplied helpfully.

"It doesn't matter if he becomes king," Lambert decreed. Ghostly fingers chilled Dimitri through the flimsy shirt the thieves had put him in after stealing his armor. "All that matters is he fulfills his promise to us. You cannot forget, Dimitri. You must kill her."

The beast nodded, wrapping his arms around his middle to ward off the icy touch of the deceased. He shivered, squeezing his eye shut. "...I will...I promise I will…"

The woman in the room, the living one, seemed more relieved by his answer than the ghosts did. Had she said something while they were talking?

“Then I’ll leave these here in case you get hungry," Mercedes said, gesturing at the food that might as well have been a pile of ash. "It's alright if you don't feel up to it for now. We'll make sure you feel better in time. I'm very happy to see you again, Your Highness."

Dimitri's eye dropped to the floor. He didn't want to see how Dedue towered over her, resting a palm on her delicate shoulder as he spoke with her lips.

She made a vaguely disappointed sound when he didn't answer, but didn't try to lay her hands on him again. "That's okay, we can talk later. I need to go for now, but Claude wanted to meet with you. You won't be alone for long."

He was never alone. 

"That's your penance for letting the world forget us," Patricia whispered.

"We can't leave until you fulfill your vow," Lambert agreed.

"A monster who bathes in blood doesn't deserve peace," Glenn announced.

Dedue said nothing. He stood in silence before the door Mercedes had passed through. When it swung open again, seconds or hours later, he stepped aside for another living visitor.

Gold. So much gold. Green eyes clinging to the living like Dimitri did the dead. A handsome face that smiled when faced with a threat. 

"Claude," Dimitri greeted.

The man was smiling now. Afraid.

"Hey, Dimitri. It's been a while." He made it sound like they were old friends. "I think we've got a few things to talk about."

Lambert glared at the moon-blessed man who reflected and amplified the faint glow within their cell. "You are wasting time here. Tell him you need to go."

Dimitri didn't want to disobey his father. He was already a miserable excuse for a son. But he also wanted his armor and Areadbhar, and Claude probably knew how to get them. He usually knew those sorts of things.

"I have no interest in talk," Dimitri rumbled.

Claude shrugged, nonchalant as if Dimitri had turned him down for tea. “Okay. Then how about I talk and you listen?”

Lambert glared at his son for wasting more time, choking off whatever acceptance Dimitri was halfway through uttering. 

The king burned. He always did this when he was furious. His skin melted like snow beneath the rays of an unforgiving sun, the flames of Duscur coloring his bones as red as the flesh peeling from them. “I told you you need to go!” He roared, “You’d betray us by wasting more time here?”

“You aren’t considering breaking through the wall are you?” Claude’s voice undercut Lambert’s rage.

Dimitri blinked. His father was whole again. Both men looked at him expectantly, Claude with more trepidation than his father.

“I would break you first,” Dimitri rasped, praying it would placate his father’s rage.

He had forgotten the conscience perched on his shoulder.

“You’d enjoy it, wouldn’t you?” Glenn whispered in his ear. His phantom breath tickled there, intimate and mocking. “Your heart is racing. What a depraved animal, more aroused by the thought of killing than fucking.”

Gritting his teeth, Dimitri tried to block out Glenn’s taunts. He needed to focus. Claude was saying something important. Something that might get him out of this tiny space where the dead toyed with his broken mind, pretending he had the strength to carry out their wishes.

“...I need to understand what you’re after and why,” Claude said following too many words lost to the rhythmic pain driving into Dimitri’s temple like a freshly sharpened spear.

At least that question was simple to answer. 

“Edelgard’s head,” Dimitri said.

Patricia snorted delicately. “What a good job you’ve done of that.”

“I will get it,” Dimitri hissed back under his breath. He dug his fingers into the floor, letting the crack of stone soothe his nerves as if it were the sensation of pulverizing her bones with his bare hands.

“Alright, that accounts for the what, though I could have guessed that much from Gronder,” Claude sighed. Dimitri tried to recall what he had said at Gronder to no avail. The only thing that remained was red and an ocean of walking corpses between him and the Emperor. “What I really want to know is why. Why the sudden obsession with killing her? You’ve been presumed dead by the Kingdom for five years, and Blaiddyd’s territories are still under Empire control, so I doubt it has anything to do with the war.”

“They need it,” Dimitri answered simply. The flames were licking at Dedue’s feet this time, but the man didn’t flinch. He held his prince’s unsteady gaze. “They’ll keep burning until I get it. It won’t end until I have it…”

“They? They who?” Claude wondered. His eyes searched over his shoulder where Dedue stood, stoic and solid, but missed staring at his face by a full sword length.

Of course. Only Dimitri could see the dead. It was his fault, after all, his wrong to right.

“Father...Mother...Glenn...Dedue…” Dimitri whispered. His roving eye pointed each of them out for his death-blind visitor.

Annoyed with this unending discussion, Lambert scowled. “That’s enough. Did I not make it clear you are wasting your time?”

“I’m sorry…” Dimitri muttered.

Glenn laughed cruelly, “He’s never been good at listening. You can’t reason with a dumb boar.”

“I’m sorry…I’ll get her head so you can rest…!” Dimitri pleaded. He hoped it would satisfy them enough to quiet down, but words had stopped working a long time ago.

“How long have you been making empty promises, Dimitri?” his stepmother accused. “How long do you expect us to wait?”

“Just a little longer...I promise!”

Dimitri squeezed his eye shut and clawed at the ground. The sickening shatter of stone, the cut of rock into his palms, the fantasy of Edelgard’s splattered skull, none of it was enough to stop the jeering of his ghosts. The dead could only be at peace once their vengeance had been assured.

Dimitri was not allowed to rest until they had it.

“Truth be told, I think living your life by the rules of the dead is a waste,” Claude muttered as if overhearing his thoughts. Dimitri’s eye creaked back open, watching the other man pour a mystery liquid into the water he had refused earlier. “But if that’s what you really want, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. So, as promised, I’m going to help you. All you have to do is drink this.”

How could a man who knew nothing of the dead hope to help him achieve what he needed to? 

“Why should I trust you?” Dimitri rumbled, eying Claude’s concoction. 

Dimitri’s visitor had the audacity to laugh. “You probably shouldn’t. But you always said you didn’t like to see deceit in every action.”

“And look where that foolish choice led,” Patricia admonished, gesturing to the tiny room confining him.

He wasn’t going to make that mistake again. If he had acted when he first suspected her instead of clinging to the foolish hope she gave a damn about any of them, the witch would already be six feet under. The dead would already have their revenge.

“The man who believed that is dead,” Dimitri grumbled. 

“If you say so,” Claude agreed easily. He shook the drink again, inviting Dimitri to claim whatever he had in store.

The prince didn’t move. “Why do you want to help?”

“I need you.  _ We _ need you.”

_ We need you to save us. We need you to remember us. We need you to fix us. We need you to avenge us. We need you to lead us. We need you to protect us... _

A chorus of voices, some living, some dead, some Dimitri had never met, chanted a mantra of princely obligation. The pressure of expectation wrung his neck with ghastly hands. He was suffocating, swallowing to find his voice again.

“I am not the boy you knew. I will use you until the flesh falls from your bones,” Dimitri warned.

Ever undaunted, Claude grinned back at the tormented prince. “I wouldn’t put it in such ugly words, but I guess that makes two of us.”

His ghosts weighed in without Dimitri’s asking.

“You’re going to drink it, aren’t you? I suppose it can’t be helped. At least you’re trying, even if you’re useless on your own.”

“As long as he finds the strength to do what must be done, that is what matters, my love.”

“It isn’t like the beast has any impulse control anyway.”

Dedue stared at the goblet being offered. Dimitri guessed that was his way of approving.

Then the decision had been made for him. 

Staggering to his feet on knees that howled like a soldier cleaved in twain, Dimitri marched closer to Claude and his nervous smile. He swiped the drink up in a massive paw. It smelled like nothing. He was thankful he wouldn’t be able to taste anything either. Throwing his head back, Dimitri downed the entire cup in one quick chug, the same as he would while drinking in the wilderness, and tossed it back on the table. 

“What now?” Dimitri said, awaiting further instructions.

“Now I recommend you go lay down. This stuff works pretty fast.”

Of course, it had been something vile in there. He should have suspected. No matter. If the other man planned to torture him, he’d be disappointed to realize there was no worse agony Claude could inflict upon Dimitri than the one he already lived.

The prince snickered at that morbid thought. “Poison again, Claude?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid. Just a little something to help you sleep since you seem to need it.” Claude made a sweeping gesture towards the bed, demanding Dimitri follow his orders to rest. 

That was starting to seem like a good idea. The walls were fading from the prince’s vision. His specters flickered in and out of existence, hopping from one part of the room to the next every time his eye closed. His mind blurred as the world swayed. Acting as quickly as his sluggish limbs could manage, Dimitri crumpled atop the bed before it vanished, too.

“If we’re going to storm Fort Merceus to get to Edelgard, we’ll need you at full strength.”

“Fort Merceus?” Dimitri slurred. 

It was dark. Fuzzy. Hard to think.

“That’s right, Your Princeliness.” Claude’s suave voice wove into the void claiming Dimitri’s senses. “I’m going to take the Stubborn Old General with your help. We’ll talk more when you wake again.”

Blissful quiet at last.

“Sweet dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this one was a long time coming. It's practically a right of passage for anyone who writes Dimitri to have a feral fic out there. 
> 
> I have a whole bunch of thoughts about the voices he hears in EM and how they shape his life. To avoid writing an essay, I'll just say that each symbolic figure from Duscur has taken on the voice of an insecurity that rules him:
> 
> Lambert: Not living up to his promises/duties to others.  
Patricia: Letting his kindness stop him from doing what must be done.  
Glenn: Being an unrepentant sadist.
> 
> Dedue is the one exception, who acts more as a tether to his past life. He never speaks badly to Dimitri, but since Dimitri can't find good words to say about himself, the prince only perceives him as 'talking' through the mouths of others who care about him.
> 
> It's also important to note that by the time he's an adult, Dimitri doesn't actually remember the people who died in Duscur. The speech patterns they use in his head are largely fabrications made over time.


	3. Sylvain & Ingrid, Felix, Claude - The Game (Pre Ch. 17)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain's determined to get to the bottom of Claude's plans for Dimitri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up for those who haven't read the explicit side stories, there's a brief mention of Sylvain's academy era flings with Dimitri in here. It's only a couple of sentences, and all you really need to know is that they had a consensual fwb situation in the past.

It felt strange, being back in Fhirdiad. Sylvain had visited as often as Sreng's assaults had allowed as a kid, of course. It was his second home - the place where Miklan couldn't touch him because his friends were there and Dimitri was the crown prince with a personal guard that could fell a dragon (but not an army of insurgents determined to kill the king, unfortunately). 

Those days didn't last, of course. Time had a way of destroying all things, good or bad. After Duscur and Garreg Mach and Cornelia, Sylvain had written this place off as a graveyard for happy memories. Dimitri clearly felt the same way, falling back into that maze of darkness Sylvain was too lost to help him escape, and if he had to guess, Felix, Ingrid, and maybe even Dedue weren't any different. Actually, he wasn't sure Dedue had any happy memories of Fhirdiad to begin with, so maybe it being a waking nightmare was business as usual.

It was all enough to make a grown man cry, preferably into an ample bosom. 

Sylvain had been lucky enough to do just that several times this past week. That was why he was also unlucky enough to be stuck in a courtyard listening to Ingrid espouse all the virtues he appreciated in others but had no interest in emulating himself.

The belltower chimed one o’clock. His savior.

“Oh, would you listen to that. Sorry, Ingrid, we'll have to do this another time.” Sylvain waved a cheery farewell, already backing away from the irritated lioness.

She frowned and closed the space he was trying to put between them. “Don't tell me you have another date.”

“Well, yes…” 

Ingrid raised her weapon, glaring as if a spear through his junk might be the best option to save whatever poor woman he was after. Sylvain blanched. No offense to eunuchs, but he had no interest in becoming one. 

“It’s not what you're thinking! I've got a date with the leader of the Alliance, not another girl,” he hurried to explain.

Ignoring the implications that he’d already gone on a date with at least one girl today, Ingrid’s disapproving glower softened, confused. “You've got a date with Claude?”

“Jealous? I didn't know he was your type.” Sylvain tossed his hands behind his head, wearing a broad grin. If he was going to burn himself playing with fire anyway, he might as well see how high he could fan the flames. “I guess I can see the appeal - illustrious noble bloodline, handsome face, winning smile. You know, your dad would probably approve of marrying someone like him, even if he's from Leicester.”

“Not interested,” Ingrid informed him coldly. Her eyes narrowed, head cocking like an attentive hunting dog who'd caught the telltale rustle of prey. “But why are  _ you _ interested? I don't remember you two being especially close at the academy.”

Sylvain shrugged. “I figure it's only right to help a guy out when they're stuck in bed like that. I have pretty recent experience with how miserable it can be. Besides, he's a good chess player.”

It was the truth, if an incomplete one. He could tell her the rest of his suspicions about Claude, that there was something the schemer had planned for Dimitri beyond Fhirdiad's throne, but it was better if Ingrid didn't get involved until Sylvain was sure. 

Sylvain loved Ingrid, but like the rest of his friends, she had the subtlety of a Duscur Bear where Dimitri was concerned. Besides, she already disliked Claude plenty without his help. If Ingrid thought the man was doing anything shady regarding their future king, she’d march right up to him and demand answers. There were few things Claude responded worse to than direct confrontation.

Better to keep all that unpleasantness off of her conscience for now. Making sure people didn’t worry unnecessarily was Sylvain’s specialty, after all.

Ingrid didn't seem convinced by his nonchalant act. “Is that it? You’re visiting him because you want to be recovery buddies all of a sudden?”

“Oh come on, you really think I'm being devious about visiting someone in the infirmary?” Sylvain laughed as if she was being ridiculous. “If it was a pretty girl in there, maybe I’d think about becoming her knight in shining armor and nursing her back to health, but what ulterior motive could I possibly have to hang out with a guy?”

“Sylvain…” Ingrid warned in her i-know-you’re-incapable-of-being-innocent tone of voice.

He merely smiled. “I don't know what to tell you, Ingrid. Maybe it's just nice to hang with someone who doesn't scold me all the time.”

There was her anger again, right on schedule and hot enough to stop her from thinking about whatever he was up to. “You bring that on yourself! If you'd listen to what I said...!”

“I got it, I got it,” Sylvain drawled. He fended her off with open palms. “Don't go straining that beautiful voice of yours yelling at me.”

When would Ingrid learn the cute way her face scrunched every time he hurled cheesy lines at her only made the taunting more fun? They’d been playing this game practically all their lives, but it seemed like she never caught on. 

“You're incorrigible,” she hissed.

“That's why the ladies love me,” Sylvain shot back with a wink. “But I really do need to get going before Claude thinks I stood him up. Nice talking to you, as always. Later!”

He turned his back before she could start in on another lecture, throwing up the back of a hand to say goodbye. Ingrid huffed something distinctly un-knightly under her breath but let him go. Sylvain hoped she’d go find Ashe in the kitchens and drown her frustrations in his cooking before he got back. Ingrid was much more agreeable when she was well-fed and fresh from starry-eyed stories about chivalry.

As for Sylvain, he wasn’t lying about wanting to get there on time. He headed straight for the sizeable wing of the palace dedicated to the sick and injured (actually, it was only filled with the injured after their bloody battle to liberate Fhirdiad), intending to get to his chess date before anyone else had a chance to interrupt him. Unfortunately for Sylvain, lady luck wasn’t falling for his charms today. 

A flinty-eyed swordsman had planted himself outside the infirmary. One who, according to the rumor mill, had disappeared into their prince’s bedroom a couple of days ago, after which His Highness made a miraculous breakthrough and decided he was willing to take the crown. Sylvain hadn’t seen Felix since then, not even at the training grounds. He assumed that wasn’t an accident, just like the swordsman leaning against a wall in front of him, frowning while he listened to the moans of suffering soldiers being tended to by overworked healers wasn’t an accident either.

“Felix?”

“Sylvain.” Felix greeted him with one of his more neutral glares.

Sylvain scratched the back of his head, trying to find the right words to start a conversation, getting the feeling that Felix wouldn’t make the first move. “Uh...not to be rude or anything but...what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” Felix sized him up. His eyes stalled on Sylvain’s face, squinting as if he was deciding whether two particular pieces fit together or he should smash the whole puzzle with his fist. “You're the one who sent Claude to the training grounds, aren't you?”

So that’s what this was about. Saying he ‘sent’ Claude was too generous in Sylvain’s opinion. The Alliance leader had stumbled into his lap and, trusting his intuition (or acting out of desperation), Sylvain had pointed Claude at Felix in hopes they’d get along well enough to dig Faerghus out of its hole. He’d half-expected it to end with Felix sending Claude back to the infirmary sporting a torso full of new stab wounds. While that might have also resulted in Dimitri venturing out of his self-induced isolation, Sylvain much preferred the version where Felix convinced their friend to take the throne with words rather than maiming someone His Highness had gotten attached to.

“I guess there's no fooling you,” Sylvain said with a sheepish smile. Felix didn’t need to know the details. “Sorry for ambushing you, but I figured he could help with the whole...Dimitri thing.”

“...thank you,” Felix mumbled. Sylvain would have missed it under the muffled racket of patients and monks if he hadn’t been looking at Felix’s face.

“What?”

Felix snapped his jaw shut and crossed his arms. “I'm not saying it again.”

Sylvain should have left it alone. He knew how difficult it was for Felix to express simple gratitude to his friends these days. But if Sylvain started caring about all the things he ‘should’ be doing, life would get too boring to be worth living, and living was barely passable as it was.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Sylvain insisted with feigned distress. “Did you hit your head? Should I call a healer? There’s a whole ward of great ones just inside.”

“No! It's…” A sharp intake of air hissed between Felix’s gritted teeth. “Just take the thanks and forget about it, okay?”

One foot over the edge of the cliff already, Sylvain started backpedaling. “Okay, okay! I didn’t mean anything by it, really.” Felix’s glare didn’t waver. Sylvain sighed, “I'm sorry for teasing, alright? I honestly think what you managed to do with Dimitri is pretty amazing. Nothing that anyone else said made him listen. I know you don’t like to think about it often, but His Highness does value your opinion.”

That pained, cat-drowning-in-a-vat-of-cream look was back on Felix’s face. “I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't convinced Claude to talk to me. He's very…” The swordsman growled. “Persuasive.” 

So he unsettled Felix, too. Not all that surprising, Sylvain supposed. Claude used rumors to make him seem dangerous the same way Sylvain did to make people think he was a braindead layabout. Then again, Claude  _ had  _ successfully united half of Fodlan against the Empire through a complex web of political and personal coercion that would make a spider dizzy, so maybe the whole ‘master tactician’ moniker was more of a warning than a ruse. 

“He’s good at getting under people’s skin, isn’t he? Still, the guy's saved Faerghus twice over now, so I can’t complain too much,” Sylvain decided with a shrug.

“Just don't let it get out of hand. The boar…” Felix paused, closed his eyes, and started again, “Dimitri is easily manipulated.”

Hearing Felix’s sharp tongue form the syllables of their prince’s name was so unreal, Sylvain almost pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever heard Felix say it before, not since his voice dropped, giving all that childish sweetness a sour coating. 

Sylvain wondered if Claude was an actual saint to work a miracle like that. Unlikely, given the man’s demeanor. Sylvain supposed he could be a demon, which might have intimidated him more if he hadn’t sold his soul to the eternal flames years ago.

“Claude's a master of using people to get what he wants, I know.” Sylvain gave Felix a thumbs up. “I promise I have it under control.”

Felix stared at him for another few seconds, long enough for Sylvain to chuckle nervously and consider making a snide comment that Felix better offer dinner if he kept undressing him with his eyes.

“Don't mess this up, Sylvain,” Felix said finally, wagging his finger in the taller man’s face.

Sylvain nodded seriously. “I won’t.” 

“Good.” Felix whipped away on a heel and stalked off before Sylvain could eke out a farewell. 

“I guess hoping you’d stick around for a real conversation was asking too much,” Sylvain grumbled. Not that he had time for one right now with Claude waiting for him, but Felix’s habit of seclusion nagged at the juvenile part of Sylvain’s brain which insisted that as the oldest, it was his responsibility to take care of them all. 

With no one left to stop him, Sylvain finally took the last few steps it took to head into the infirmary, wave a cheerful hello to the healers who he’d recently escaped, and arrive at Claude’s room. Inside, he was greeted by a rumpled patient with a rook in one hand and a book in the other, fervently walking through one of the many diagrams inside its pages. He grinned at Sylvain’s shadow darkening his doorway, tossing his reading material to a nearby table without so much as a dogear. How Claude thrived in that sort of chaos, Sylvain would never understand.

“There you are!” The archer welcomed him in, waving and resetting the board. “I was starting to worry you were cheating on me with someone else.”

“I would never. You know you’re the only one for me.” Sylvain placed his hand over his heart.

Claude laughed. “I must be the fourth person you’ve said that to today.”

He didn’t sound disgusted or frustrated like most people would have. Sylvain wasn’t sure if that was out of respect for him or indifference to his wellbeing, but either way, it was a pleasant change of pace. Sylvain had offered to help Claude get a date once, but Claude only brushed him off with a wily smile, saying he wasn’t sure if he should be taking dating advice from someone who regularly had to run away after getting any action. They let each other have their own agendas in peace after that.

Sylvain pulled up his seat, settling in front of the board Claude had prepared with the positions where they ended their last match. “For the record, you’re only the third person I’ve said that to today.”

“Oh? You must have been busy with something other than women, then.” Claude propped his elbows up next to the board, steepling his fingers while he waited for Sylvain to make his first move. “So tell me, what’s going on in the world outside my cozy, little prison cell?”

Sylvain led with a pawn. A conservative move, very unlike him, but necessary to lull Claude into a more predictable pattern. “For one, His Highness is going to be holding a grand feast commemorating his return home in a few days. Seems he’s come around on the idea of being king.”

“Has he now? That’s great news for you.” Claude’s interest sounded subdued, but Sylvain wasn’t fooled. 

Talking about Dimitri always made the other man perk up. Naturally a fidgety person, tugging at scratchy clothing, rapping his fingers on his arms with barely restrained energy, or toying with his hair, Claude stilled and focused like a cat on the prowl when he heard the prince’s name. It was both adorable and a bit pathetic in the same way Felix was when he forgot to scowl while correcting Ashe’s sword stances.

It was also the major reason why Sylvain still had reservations about Claude. Although the knight hadn’t talked to Dimitri much since his return (having his legs crushed while playing hero for His Highness had gotten in the way of their regular exasperated exchanges), Sylvain still considered himself an expert at telling Dimitri’s usual profuse compliments apart from his truly infatuated ones. He’d been forced to learn the difference years ago in his self-appointed role as Dimitri’s guardian from gold diggers, a skill which helped him out when they’d shared some casual intimacy at the academy. If Sylvain had broken Dimitri’s heart by letting His Highness fall in love during their nights of experimentation, Dedue would have killed him, assuming the other Blue Lions didn’t beat him to it.

In any case, Sylvain was pretty sure Dimitri had at least a fledgling crush on Claude. He couldn’t blame the man - Claude was handsome, smart, and always seemed to be there for Dimitri when he needed it most. The problem was, Claude proved much harder to read. It seemed like he returned those feelings given how finely attuned he was to any mention of Dimitri, but his interest could easily be part of a scheme to gain control of Faerghus. If that was the case, Claude would find out exactly what lions did to little deers who tried to steal from them.

“It’s good news for everyone, I think,” Sylvain replied, tapping his fingers on the table. “Faerghus needs a king and marching without him into Enbarr would probably be suicide.”

“Probably,” Claude agreed.

Time for a more aggressive move. Sylvain’s bishop snapped up a pawn.

“I wonder if this means he’s planning to take a queen soon, too,” Sylvain probed, glancing up from their competition to read Claude’s expression.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell if Claude’s smile dimmed at the mention of a wife because the archer immediately reached across the board to move a piece. “You might want to watch your own queen. Check.”

Sylvain made an effort to look annoyed about his carelessness, but really, there was only one game he cared to win and it wasn’t the one on the table. “Ah, look at that.” He slid his knight over to protect his king. “In any case, I hope that if he does decide to court someone he’ll ask me first.”

Sylvain knew he had lined himself up for a snide remark when Claude’s eyebrows shot up. The schemer advanced one of his pawns. “You know, I had heard some rumors about Dimitri’s uncle, but I didn’t realize ‘womanizing bachelor’ was the preferred bearing for Faerghus kings.”

“Ouch, but deserved,” Sylvain admitted, countering with another of his own. “Seriously though, His Highness is painfully bad when it comes to dating. Did I ever tell you about his first crush?”

Claude’s eyes glittered, flicking up from the board. “I don’t think so. How long ago was it?”

Now that Sylvain finally had the deer’s attention, he wasn’t going to let it go. Leaning his chin on a palm so they could talk without staring at the chess pieces, Sylvain wove his trap. “A long time ago. Before Duscur. There was this girl who was only around Fhirdiad for a short time, not long enough for any of us to really get to know her. Regardless, Dimitri was enamored by her. But do you know what he got her to say goodbye?”

Claude’s lips tugged upwards. “I’m going out on a limb and guessing it wasn’t something guys usually get their girlfriends, like jewelry.”

“A dagger,” Sylvain deadpanned. “He gave this little girl he had a crush on a  _ dagger _ to remember him by.”

“That...sounds like Dimitri.” Claude chuckled. 

Fondness shone in his eyes as he smiled, staring past Sylvain towards the door and the prince somewhere beyond. But that affectionate gaze alone wasn’t enough to convince Sylvain he was seeing anything other than what Claude wanted him to see. What happened next did. The slow fall of Claude’s lips, the unguarded scrunch of his brow, the raw ache that flashed across his face before he remembered he was meant to always wear a smile. 

Dimitri still hadn’t visited the infirmary, and Sylvain was starting to feel bad about pushing so hard. 

“What I’m trying to say is that someone needs to advise him on how to court women as a matter of national security,” Sylvain said. He returned his eyes to the board and Claude followed suit, refocusing on their game. “Do you know how many body parts I’d be missing if I started giving girls daggers every time I was interested in them?” 

Never one to ignore an escape route when it was given, Claude smirked and followed his lead back into relaxed banter. “I wasn’t aware you had more than one body part that you cared about.”

“If you think there’s only one part that matters, then I feel sorry for your lovers,” Sylvain retorted with a churlish grin.

Claude finally made his next move, restarting the flow of their match, and winked at his opponent. “I appreciate the concern, but I promise, I have plenty of tricks up my sleeve. I might even be willing to trade a few for the right price.”

“I do fine on my own, thanks,” Sylvain snorted. He paused, fingers hovering over a piece. “But...if I was curious, what’s your price?”

Claude cocked his head, emerald eyes aglow with mirth. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

He did indeed. Sylvain took back his initial assessment of Fhirdiad as he dove into another story, this time a favorite of Rodrigue’s (and Felix’s though he didn’t tell it anymore) about the first time Dimitri had snapped a sword in half as a kid. Maybe there were a few memories worth holding onto in this place after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heads up for those who have been following along - my big party is this weekend, so you may not see much more posted from me here for a little while. However, when I return, I plan to start things off with a bang by posting the first chapter of the EM sequel! That doesn't mean I won't be writing more side stories as I find time, too. I still have a ton of prompts from all of you that I'd like to get to, and I'm sure I'll get more as we delve into Almyra.
> 
> Also, I have a Twitter now (@shadowshrike2) if you want to talk about general fe3h stuff or see WIPs/deleted scenes/story ideas on ao3 that will never see the light of day.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and I'm going to get back to catching up on comments today. :)


End file.
